


A Love Unmatched

by sweet_arsenic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempt at Humor, College Student Keith (Voltron), Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hopeful Ending, Kinda, M/M, Mob Boss Shiro (Voltron), Organized Crime, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Swearing, Underage Drinking, bec it wouldn't be a work from me if i wasn't commenting on hierarchy, but like only implied, does this count as a sugar daddy au, hating on rich people, i think i mean i don't write it much so what constitutes as fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_arsenic/pseuds/sweet_arsenic
Summary: Keith just wanted to live an average, uneventful life. He shared a crappy apartment with three other people, juggled a part-time job at the university library, and did everything to keep his life relatively normal. Finding out his Match was the heir to one of the largest criminal organizations in the world wasdefinitelyoff the table.
Relationships: Allura & Shiro (Voltron), James Griffin/Ryan Kinkade, Keith & Romelle (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 206
Collections: Star-Crossed: Sheith Soulmate Zine 2020





	A Love Unmatched

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how crime works bec I am a model citizen conforming to a toxic law enforcement system. Also yay I finally finished my zine piece. (End notes for fanart and doodles)

There were sixteen different brands of tampons displayed. Keith didn’t even _know_ more than ten existed.

He was getting anxious waiting for Romelle’s text in front of the magazine rack, all because one of the old ladies in the grocery kept giving him odd looks for lingering in the women’s products section.

 _There are like five different Tampax boxes in here_ , Keith texted her.

 _Get the super absorbent one. It’s blue_ , she replied.

He looked to check if the same lady eyeing him was gone and then made a beeline for the aisle. After snatching up the first one with a _Super Plus_ label, he ran.

 _You’re a few dollars off_. Keith texted in one hand, rolled a twenty in the other as he made his way to the check.

 _Then get yourself something nice_ , Romelle texted back, _My treat._

Feeling a little bit better about having to interrupt his cramming session to buy his roommate emergency tampons, Keith briefly stopped by the produce section to pick out an extra expensive-looking box of strawberries. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t even have to do much mental calculations to make sure it fit under his daily budget.

Romelle probably wouldn’t mind him cashing out on the whole twenty anyway. No one ever called his roommate selfish. She practically shared everything with him. Her food, her _Netflix_ account, even tales of her latest romantic exploits.

When he got in line, the same old lady was now ahead of him. She turned as he was approaching and glanced down at his items. Keith offered a tight smile and nothing else in hopes of deterring her from making a comment about it. It was almost ten now and he didn’t really want to have to start polite conversation with anyone.

“Does your girlfriend usually get late-night cravings during her time?” The woman’s lips pulled up into an open smile, eyes crinkling in the process.

It took awhile for him to process her question and let out what he hoped didn't sound like an awkward laugh. “All the time, ma’am. It’s a pain to have to deal with,” he lied.

“Oh, you don’t know pain. If Matches could feel cramps, men would be a lot more accommodating about it.” The lady laughed as she wagged a finger at him. “But you’re a good boy, doing this for her. You’re lucky to have found each other so young.”

“Oh, we didn’t…” Keith trailed off, not quite knowing how to address that. “I haven’t found my Match yet.”

The cramming was probably making his brain-to-mouth filter malfunction because the smartest thing to do was make up some sort of cliché response about fate. He already lied about Romelle being his girlfriend, he could’ve crafted a story about them being happily Matched as well and leave it at that.

“Really?” Her smile fell right off. “You’re sure it’s not her?”

“Pretty sure.” _If the weird tattoo on his back was anything to go by, yeah._

“That’s a shame,” she offered in return, turning back to the front just when the cashier computed her total. Keith let out a sigh of relief when the woman finished up and left without another word. Talking about two people being Unmatched but ending up together was always a bummer. It felt like a time bomb in a room that everyone was forced to be polite to. So, naturally, it cut off _a lot_ of people who intended to have long winded conversations about things Keith didn’t really care much about.

When his things were all bagged, he noticed an extra pack of gum inside. “Hey, sorry, this isn’t mine,” he said to the cashier. She blinked at him before looking down at the gum he was holding.

“Oh, you can keep it,” the cashier explained, looking strangely sympathetic. “Sorry to hear about your girlfriend, dude. Hope you guys find your Matches soon, though.”

* * *

James and his boyfriend were already in the apartment by the time he returned. Kinkade gave an acknowledging nod, but James didn’t say anything at all. He was on the other side of the room, rummaging through the refrigerator.

But then he saw the box in Keith’s hand and gave him a questioning look. “You’re behind on rent but you can afford to stuff your face with strawberries.” It wasn’t really a question, because every question from James didn’t really sound like a question. Like he was interrogating him except he already knew all the answers, ticking off bingo boxes with Keith's predictable responses.

Keith hasn’t met many political science majors yet, but he figured that most of them talked like James.

“The money’s from Romelle. She needed something from the store.”

“Deadline’s in two weeks.”

“Have it tattooed to your forehead then, that way I can see it twice as often.” James glared as Keith gestured to him and Kinkade. Keith quickly made his retreat to Romelle’s door before James could think of some clever retort — he really didn’t want an argument with James to escalate when he had twenty more pages to read for his history course.

Her door flew open at the second knock, and quick hands were grabbing the package from him before swinging the door shut again. “Thank you so much!"

"Welcome," Keith muttered to her door before heading back to his room. Inside, he collapsed on his laundry-piled bed after placing his food down. But he only allowed himself ten seconds of shut eye before he got back to work. Keith miserably reached for his laptop from the desk and dragged it closer, willing his eyes to remain open.

Maybe if he studied while lying down, he won’t be as tired in the morning.

* * *

Keith fell asleep on page eight. As a petty act of revenge for last night, James also came into his room to take back the extension cord Keith borrowed but did not think to wake him even if they had the same nine AM class. The fucker.

He woke up twenty minutes before their _Critical Thinking_ class started and stared into the dingy gray ceiling. _If I don't go today I can study in the library while I wait for my shift to start and I'll have three and a half more allowable absences_ , Keith thought.

By the time nine rolled in, Keith was locking the front door and heading to the south gate library.

Not many people visited that library in particular. The one closest to the scholarship office recently got renovated and this one didn't even have Wi-Fi on the third floor. But Keith usually used his employee pass to get into the staff office, since it was slightly more tolerable.

He had gotten through ten more pages when his coworker, Hunk, came in. "Hey." Hunk smiled at him as he dropped his stuff off at the office. "Cramming some readings?"

Keith huffed as he turned his laptop off. "College is a bitch and I didn’t heed any warnings about taking Iverson’s class."

Hunk shrugged. “Well, every gen ed professor thinks their class is _the_ most important class.” He stepped aside so Keith could walk out the office door to start his shift.

His part time job paid okay. It beat working in retail, which wasn't really his thing. During their second semester, Romelle tried to get him a spot in the store she worked at, but he could hardly get through the interview because the manager told him he didn't look 'approachable and friendly'.

Keith couldn't really afford 'approachable and friendly' at the moment. He was knee deep in plates from his art courses and readings from his general courses. He didn't own a single piece of clothing that had been bought less than six months ago. And he considered ketchup and fries an actual meal (tomatoes and potatoes — it's practically a salad).

But it was better than being back home attending community college. Better than staying in that neighborhood and fading into nothing.

Keith never wanted that. Sure, he liked the quiet life and he liked the calm, but he wanted it on his terms.

When he got his one shot out of foster home, he took it. And his assigned guardians were all too happy to give in. It had taken a couple protocol hugs and almost-heartfelt dinners, but soon it was just him and his luggage in a city he's never been to. Penniless and alone.

Romelle was the first good thing that's happened to him in a while. He had been trying to land a job as a waiter while Romelle was getting fired from the same place. Three beers in and she started lamenting about how she hasn't found enough roommates to pay rent for an apartment she hastily picked. Apparently, two other guys were helping to split the bill but they had one spare bedroom left and could use the extra help.

The rest was history.

Hunk's yawn registered to him right when the clock hit exactly noon. That signaled his fifteen minutes off starting. With a salute, Keith walked out through the emergency exit of the library.

A few weeks after starting, Keith had found a spot there where the sun hit the roof just right. When he sat on that bench, the light didn't blind him and he could see the baseball team practicing their drills.

Another reason nobody liked coming to that library: the noise from the field. Keith didn't mind, though. Half of the time he tuned it out and sometimes he even liked watching how the players moved. He liked to file away their movement into his memory. Dynamic poses and all that.

It was particularly perfect that day. Keith took a seat on his normal spot outside and noted how they removed one section of the fence that encompassed that field.

He paid their cheers and yells no mind for some time until one — a shout of _'watch out!_ ' that seemed fairly innocuous and unalarming in a normal game of baseball — happened to catch his attention, locking his eyes directly into a hurtling mass and only really making sense of what that meant when it hit him right on the head.

* * *

Keith’s first coherent thought was about how he was definitely going to miss his two-thirty lecture. His second — after discovering he had been placed on an unfamiliar bed — was if the hospital charged too much, he might just have another concussion.

It’s not the campus clinic, that much he knew. For some reason, whoever took responsibility had decided to bring him in here when he had been perfectly fine with the idea of being tended in the campus clinic. Or, you know, being left unconscious behind the library.

“Good, you’re awake.” The doctor who spoke to him seemed unnervingly chipper. She wrote something down on her clipboard before turning to him again. “Can you speak?”

“What?” It came out a little slurred, but apparently she decided it was good enough.

“Perfect. I’ll go bring in the person who asked to see you.”

Keith couldn’t think of anyone who would be interested enough to stay. Maybe it was some people on the team who felt bad about knocking him out.

When the doctor came back, she was with someone he didn’t recognize. The man who came in occupied the space from floor to ceiling. He looked out of place in the hospital, with a sleek suit stretched intimidatingly over his large body and a glint of silver Rolex that appeared when his sleeve pulled back slightly. But the most striking thing was a long scar that ran across the man’s right eye into his lip and his mane of braided white hair.

"Mr. Kogane, this is Kolivan and he's here to ask you a couple questions."

Kolivan gave a curt nod as a greeting, which Keith didn't bother to return. When Keith’s vision stopped blurring so much, he found the nerve to ask, "Am I in trouble?"

"Not at all. He just wants to know a bit more about the nature of your injury." On that note, the doctor hastily left the room.

"Where exactly did you get hit?"

The man questioned like James. Like he already expected a particular answer and was just toying with Keith. Maybe he was a political science graduate.

"Maybe you should ask the doctor," Keith deadpanned.

"I want to hear it from you." The man, Kolivan, levelled him with an even harder look.

"On top of my head. With a baseball."

"You fell unconscious right away. Is that correct?"

"Yeah, I- hold on, are _you_ a doctor?"

Kolivan's eyes darted below as he moved his arm slightly to reveal the Rolex again. Maybe he was running late to a meeting, needed to sign papers to finalize his new line of _overpriced, gold-encrusted cigars_ or whatever people like him did.

"I am a normal civilian who intends to ask you a few questions that, depending on your answer, can gravely affect the severity of this situation."

"Normal civilians don't talk like that."

Kolivan's face was hard to read, Keith couldn't tell if he was smiling or getting increasingly irritated.

"The doctor informed me that they uncovered a strange symbol on your body. When did you acquire this tattoo?"

Keith's breath hitched. Instantly, he felt the air in the room shift. He struggled against the urge to touch the small of his back, right where the symbol ended. He willed his eyes to remain steely as he stared Kolivan down. _It's just a tattoo_ , he mentally reassured himself, _how much trouble could it possibly get me in?_

"Around two months ago."

"Have you found your Match yet?"

He hasn’t even met his Match yet and _already_ they were getting him into so much shit. Maybe Kolivan knew a person who has the same tattoo? Maybe he had a score to settle with his Match? What kind of person was his Match to even _dare_ to anger someone like Kolivan? God, this stupid tattoo was going to get him killed.

"I haven't met them yet, but I haven't done anything wrong. So if you know them or something-"

"You have had a similar experience previously three years ago. Your right arm was severely injured from your connection to your Match and you have experienced difficulty using it ever since." A significant pause. "Is that correct?"

Instinctively, the arm in question twitched and his left arm clutched it tight as if remembering the searing pain that erupted through his nerves with no explanation that day. "How’d you-"

"Your medical record."

Keith slumped back down the bed. The room swirled, but he didn’t know if it was because of everything happening or the symptoms of his concussion. “Okay, I can see there’s more to this situation than just curiosity. So can you cut to the chase and tell me what this is really about?”

Kolivan fixed him with a hard look. Maybe he really _was_ there to kill him. But, after a few moments of silence, Kolivan ended up doing something much worse. He said, “I know who your Match is. And I can take you to meet him."

* * *

Possibly the oldest trick in the book besides ‘ _hop into the white van, there’s candy inside_ ’ was ‘ _hop into the shiny limo, I know where your Match is_ ’.

Keith knew it could probably end up being one of his stupidest moments. Maybe the injury was clouding his judgement. But some part of him is also filled with newfound curiosity. He’s dreamt of his Match the same way other people did growing up. But that doesn’t mean he’s put much serious thought into it in quite a while. It’s not the kind of thing he particularly chased. After all, it didn’t pay rent or put food on the table — he had bigger things to worry about.

But being offered the closest lead he’s ever had to finding his Match was enough to unlock those childish desires. He was past dreaming of having someone to spend the rest of his life with and grow old together, but he still wanted to see what kind of person the universe created just for him.

A driver donning full uniform opened the door for him. When he glanced back, Kolivan looked mildly irritated, so he took it as his cue to slide in first. Inside, he was grateful to find none of Kolivan's crime buddies. It spared him from completing the cliché of being sandwiched between two men wearing suits during a tense car ride containing illegal undertones.

He was expecting Kolivan to light a cigarette, or at least pour him something from the rather impressive display of alcohol the limo boasted. But he got straight into business. Kolivan probably wouldn’t like mobster movies.

“Where did you move from?”

“Texas.”

Kolivan hummed, like they do in job interviews when you have an impressive answer. Except nothing had been impressive about that. Maybe he was just expecting Keith to lie to him about even the smallest details.

“Your records say that you remained in the same town until graduating high school.” Kolivan persisted with his cold-blooded interrogation. “Have you been to this area before?”

“No, I only moved here for college last year.”

“That explains how we couldn’t find you, not that we were looking particularly hard. Your hometown is quite remote, so off the grid that we didn’t consider it a possibility. It is also located beyond our jurisdiction.”

Keith stared at him, blank-faced. “You mean beyond your turf?”

The man grunted, but didn’t say much more. All Keith knew about gangs and mobs, he’d heard from movies and exaggerated tales. Maybe the people actually involved in that kind of scene didn’t even use that word, but Kolivan seemed to understand him well enough.

“I still don’t get it. Why was it so important to find me?”

“You have been taught about the link Matches share, have you not?”

“Yeah.”

He’s seen sudden scars and bruises appear on other people’s skin. He’s seen his fair share coloring his own as well. It was the biggest fucking scare as a kid, seeing it suddenly appearing into your body even if you had no memory of actually getting hurt in those places. Nearly everyone went through that initial shock — until they were told about Matches by their parents or teachers or something and they came to school the next day wearing their bruises like a badge.

“Then you should know that Matches have a stronger physical link than an emotional one. It would not be a bother if Matches were to only transmit emotions, but unfortunately, the existence of a physical link can prove rather… inconvenient.” Kolivan averted his eyes. “In our line of business, it is troublesome if our efforts to maximize security on targets are deemed meaningless by having the target’s Match killed instead.”

Keith’s blood turned to ice. Suddenly, it was so much clearer how much danger he was in. It’s true that, since the link can transmit physical and emotional pain, someone’s Match can end up inadvertently hurting them. Dying because of your physical link to your Match was not a common occurrence — but then so was finding out your Match has been tangled in a messy dispute that could end with you being killed in a futile attempt to get even. Keith wouldn’t put it past the universe to grant him such shitty luck.

“So, that’s it then? My Match is a target and now I need to worry about getting assassinated.” Keith waited for Kolivan to deny it.

“No.” Some air returned to his lungs, but Kolivan was quick to make matters worse. “No one outside the most trusted members of our organization knows about your connection at the moment. At best you will not have to worry about any assassination attempts until after two days.”

In a different situation, maybe Keith could’ve found Kolivan’s oblivious bluntness a little funny. But, in a life-and-death matter where both the life and the death in question was his — everything was humorless.

He also felt kind of pissed. Rightfully so. Who did his Match think they were? Why did they have to get into these things and drag Keith along? Couldn’t they have looked at the mob application pamphlets and just walked away with a ‘ _no thanks'_? Maybe then Keith could actually fathom surviving past his first year in university.

“So what are you guys gonna do, lock me up forever?”

“Your Match will explain everything.”

Keith slumped into his seat and watched the buildings bleed together outside. His Match would likely offer very few answers, but Kolivan did not seem like he was going to offer any at all. So he rode it out in silence, contemplating what shady place they would take him to.

* * *

It was actually quite a nice place. One of those fancy hotels he’s never even dreamed of staying in, in that part of town with the buildings so high it strained his neck to try to look up to the top.

When they got inside, Kolivan didn’t even stop by the reception. Keith saw the people gathered outside the elevators next to the lobby, but Kolivan led him to the opposite, through a series of confusing halls. At the end was a private elevator leading to a closed-off floor.

The elevator doors opened to a long hallway with few doors, but only one door had two guards stationed in front. They opened the doors for them as Kolivan nodded, and Keith was led into an empty suite.

Keith looked to Kolivan, but he was quick to clarify. “Your Match is waiting in the study.”

When he whipped his head to the direction Kolivan was heading, he found that there was a pair of closed doors that led to what was probably the study. Once closer, Keith heard the faint chatter inside. He would’ve preferred to meet his Match alone, if only to experience what it would feel like in a mostly isolated situation. Keith didn’t even know what would happen if he managed to humiliate himself while there was a crowd in addition to his Match, but he didn’t really have time to think as Kolivan reached for the door.

Keith thought that whole 'meeting your Match' thing was bullshit. He only remembered hearing accounts from older couples in the past. He wasn't close enough to people his age who have experienced meeting their Match already, and it wasn't like James and Kinkade seemed willing to share.

He's seen the movies, though. Keith knows what it's _supposed_ to feel like.

When the large doors opened, the noise died down and Keith took in the faces in the room. He landed on a pair of gray eyes and he just knew, somehow.

His Match looked at him, stared at him. Keith's Match had warm eyes. His slick dark hair was pushed back, with a few strands framing his face. He had a faint cut on his chin, one Keith got when he had an accident on the stairs in third grade. His arm, the one where Keith had felt so much pain from and still continues to carry a dull ache in, was completely metal.

He was beautiful. And Keith couldn't tear his eyes away from him.

But turns out, he didn't have to. His Match averted his eyes and the warmth was gone. He cleared his throat and addressed Kolivan.

"So you've really found my Match?"

Of course his voice had to be smooth. Smooth and velvety and, really, just the perfect addition to an already perfect human being.

But his Match speaking about him as if he was handling a transaction. That snapped Keith back into reality. _His existence could end up killing you_ Keith reminded himself, _you are mad about it, and he might be hot, but you are mad about it_

“Yes, this is Keith Kogane. His records are clean, he is unaffiliated with any groups or individuals we’ve deemed threats.” Before Kolivan could continue, Keith cut him off. “Kolivan never mentioned what you guys actually plan on doing with me, though.”

All eyes moved to him, including his Match. He tried to remain unfazed, especially with the knowledge that the people in this room were probably involved in some very shady things. He could very well die in this pristine room, but he didn’t have enough will in him to start begging.

“Oh, he’s delightful,” a pretty woman lounging on one of the seats commented after a stretch of silence. “He’s perfect for you, Shiro!”

Keith felt his face flame up. That was _not_ his intended reaction. He didn’t want to spit fire only to be treated like a barking puppy.

His Match — _Shiro_ — tore his eyes away, appearing a little red in the face as well. “Let’s not get distracted, Allura. I need to start discussing the plan of action now that he’s here. Everyone else is dismissed.”

Everyone dutifully started leaving the room at his command. The same woman who spoke earlier sighed and was escorted out. If he didn’t know any better, he would say that she stared at him knowingly before following the others out.

Once the doors were shut, Shiro gestured to the seat across him. “Here. You probably want to sit down for this.”

There were guards by Shiro’s sides and they did not leave. Keith took uneasy steps towards Shiro, noted the large floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. He’s never been in a place like this before, a tower where he can look to the people on the streets below and they were ants to him. He didn’t like the irony.

Still, it was pretty. In a peculiar sort of way, a way that drew him in. If this was what people like Shiro woke up to, he could kind of imagine why they did what they did.

Keith saw that there was a small table separating them, where one plain folder was placed. When he sat, Shiro began. “I didn’t expect this situation to come up so soon, but the head injury gave us an idea of just how strong the physical link of our Match is.” Shiro added, “I don’t know how much Kolivan told you, but you probably guessed by now that I am considered an important person around here, which means a lot of people want either me or my Match killed.”

“Around here being in your line of work.” Keith nodded slowly in understanding. “And your line of work being…?”

At that, Shiro actually met his eyes to give him a small smile. His smile didn’t look sinister. In fact, he looked quite shy about it, like they were exchanging a joke. It was almost cute. Keith could almost imagine them in some bar after exam season, smiling at each other over drinks. The fact that Shiro could look like a regular grad student surprised him more than the fact that he actually thought of someone as dangerous as Shiro probably was as _cute_

“I can’t say for now. But I’m sure you know it’s not entirely safe,” Shiro admitted, looking tense again as he pushed the folder to Keith’s direction. “Which is why it’s essential to put you under protection right away. We need to go over some terms to make sure you agree.”

Keith thought about what the terms could be while he started to open the folder. He’d have to start living like royalty, he guessed. Drop out of school and hire a private tutor, move into a grand manor with a hundred servants, maybe even end up betrothed for political gain and without any regard for his personal desires.

 _Well_ , his mind unhelpfully supplied, _if you have to end up marrying someone, Shiro seems like a pretty good option._

What he read, though, ended up surprising him. After a while, Shiro spoke. “You don’t have to uproot your current life, but we are insisting on some changes for protection. We’ll be providing replacements for some possessions, like your phone, and we’ve collected information about every place within a certain radius from your campus and other locations you’ve been found to frequent, so we can station some of our own to stand guard. Every trip that goes beyond those areas will require a heads-up so we can accommodate the necessary preparation. You’ll have personal guards and a chauffeur. And page six should have a breakdown of your monthly allowance.”

_Those are a lot of zeroes._

“Holy shit,” Keith whispered. “If meeting my Match is going to be treated like a business deal, I might as well get money out of it, I guess.”

Instead of easing Shiro with the joke, he seemed to wilt a little. It occurred to Keith then that this might’ve been something Shiro had been looking forward to for years. And suddenly, he remembered what a mess he was, just some ratty college student plucked from obscurity. Shiro was probably disappointed not only with the nature of their first meeting, but his Match in general.

He thought about the people that had been occupying the room earlier. They all looked so elegant and perfect, such a stark comparison to the aura Keith gave off. Maybe Shiro was expecting someone like that — rich and pretty.

Keith winced. “Sorry. You probably expected a lot more from your Match, huh?”

That seemed to shock Shiro. Without warning, he sputtered, “Oh, no, it isn’t about you. I just don’t want to force you into anything. I mean you’re perfect. You’re everything I imagined you would be. It’s weird.”

That made them both flustered.

One of the guards swayed slightly, reminding Keith just how out of place their conversation was. Once again, he found himself wishing Shiro was born a little more average. He could be someone from Keith’s gen ed classes. Maybe they sat together once and formed a friendship, Shiro asked for his number, and Keith finally got the balls to ask him out to a nice place.

“You’re- uh, you’re not too bad yourself,” Keith admitted.

Shiro gave him another small smile from across and he felt something in his chest warm up. “It’s getting late. We’ve already stationed some guys around your apartment for extra measure, so it’s safe to go back. But there’s a room here for you, if you prefer to stay.”

“Oh, I have a nine am shift tomorrow,” Keith said, lamely, like some kid with a curfew.

Again, he was made hyperaware how strange the situation was. Shiro just offered him a place to stay for the night in an first class hotel and he was chickening out because of his part-time job.

“It’s alright, I’ll go get the car ready and see you home. I mean, well, _I_ won’t actually get it ready.” Shiro was still red when he turned to one of the guards and they nodded before leaving to fulfill his orders. “But yeah, the car will be ready and I can take you home.”

The car ride home was awkward, but not unpleasant. On the contrary, it felt like they were little kids holding hands underneath the library tables, blushing and hoping nobody would suspect anything. The same driver was in front, humming while he navigated them back to Keith’s apartment. Somehow, it lightened his mood.

“So, this will be your new phone.” Shiro handed him an expensive-looking box. “You can take the time to transfer everything you need to and give your old one up once you’re done. Unfortunately, it’s tapped for security measures.”

He gave him an apologetic look. Keith shrugged. “I don’t use my phone for much anyway.”

“Three contacts are already registered. One for your chauffeur, one for Kolivan, and one for me.” Shiro scratched the back of his head. “Not my personal one, though. But I can still respond to you and see your messages immediately, in case there is an emergency.”

“So, I’ll call you to meet up again? To discuss the details of the terms and stuff. Or one of your people will call me and pick me up in a limo.”

His Match snorted. “I’ll call you,” he corrected “and when we’re done discussing the terms, maybe we can go somewhere.”

It was as close to a date proposal as he was gonna get for now, so Keith took it gladly.

Over the years, he has come to accept that he wouldn’t end up finding his Match, as some never do. They always said finding your Match was an explosion of fireworks, a booming angelic choir. That troubled Keith. He didn't know what would happen after the music died down or the light faded. After all the excitement, what happens if he can't even manage to keep his Match? What happens if the love that was once there just disappears and they decide to leave Keith?

Shiro didn't feel like an explosion of fireworks. When their conversation came to an end and the comfortable silence settled, Shiro's hand reached over to enclose his own and it felt safe. Even while they were still peering over the beginning of what could be their relationship. Keith could feel himself opening up, he could see himself trusting this man. And he didn't even know Shiro's full name.

When the car came to a stop in front of Keith’s familiar apartment, he turned to Shiro. “Thanks for today. Kolivan scared the shit out of me, but it was nice.”

Shiro's eyes twinkled as his lips curled up into a smile, he stared at Keith for a while. Their hands were still entwined, neither really felt like letting go. “Yeah, I’m really glad I met you, Keith. Good night.”

“Night,” Keith said, letting go and opening the car door to step out. When he was out, the car slowly started moving away. He couldn’t fight the smile out of his face. Not even when, the instant the car was out of sight, Romelle slammed the front door open and yelled at him for answers. Kinkade looked worried when he came in. He muttered a ' _you okay_?' to Keith, which was about the extent of their usual communication. Even James looked mildly concerned inside, though he was doing a semi-alright job pretending not to care either.

“God, you disappeared for six hours and the last time anyone saw you was unconscious and being dragged to the hospital. What the hell _happened_?” Romelle sat him down and offered him a beer once they were inside. She was obviously freaking out, but it made him feel nice that she cared so much.

“I think I just met my Match,” Keith said, beer left unopened in his hand.

James choked on his drink and Kinkade’s eyebrows shot up. After a second of processing, Romelle squealed loudly and started to shake him excitedly.

He didn’t really hear what they were saying. Instead, Shiro’s voice rang inside his head. _Maybe we can go somewhere_ , his Match had said as a promise of something more.

By morning, the weight of the situation would probably come crashing down to him. It could be a lie, a trick to lure him into a false sense of security before offing him swiftly to avoid complication. Or Shiro’s people could have messed up and an assassin was already waiting in his bedroom.

While Keith was still a little drunk on the warmth of Shiro’s smile, though, he let a dangerously hopeful thought slip into his mind that maybe what the universe had in store for him wasn’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the piece I made for the Star-Crossed: Sheith Soulmate Zine, which you can find a free download link to right [here](https://sheithsoulmatezine.tumblr.com/post/616779371212161024/other-tags-to-include-keithshiro-voltron). I made a few changes from how it was published in the zine itself because I really had to trim down a lot for the word limit of the zine. But yeah here's the thing, might make this into something longer just because I miss writing for them.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sweet_arsenicc) | [Tumblr](https://omegakeith.tumblr.com/)  
>    
> Related art and doodles:  
> [[1]](https://twitter.com/sweet_arsenicc/status/1257659427282227202) [[2]](https://twitter.com/sweet_arsenicc/status/1258376744798576645) [[3]](https://twitter.com/sweet_arsenicc/status/1259644455260352512) [[NSFW]](https://twitter.com/sweet_arsenicc/status/1258903400214740993)


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